


there's a nightmare where my dreamgirl was (my prince charming is a bore)

by oncewewerezombies, Snailman



Series: to accidentally fill a void of yearning [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Alternia, Biting, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Illustrations, Netflix and Chill, Porn with Feelings, Rough Sex, Scratching, Troll Jane Austen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28955316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snailman/pseuds/Snailman
Summary: Nepeta invites Karkat over to her cave, strictly for movie watching reasons.;33
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Nepeta Leijon/Karkat Vantas
Series: to accidentally fill a void of yearning [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1777330
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	there's a nightmare where my dreamgirl was (my prince charming is a bore)

**Author's Note:**

> All pictures drawn by Mare, who's been a dream to work with.

This is even more of a mistake than going to Equius' place had been.

You glower at Nepeta and she grins fearlessly back at you, as though your glare means absolutely fucking nothing to her. You know it means nothing to her, and that makes you _want_ to make it mean something to her. Something hideous and terrible, and very very important. God. You can't remember having been this angry at someone and not having the room to show it for a very long fucking time. She's invited you to her hive (cave), and managed to make it something you couldn't refuse somehow, or you'd have been backing down to her. You're not used to the one being manoeuvred ,you're usually the one doing the emotional manoeuvring. That's how you've kept Eridan stable for all these sweeps even during his moirallegiance with Feferi (maybe even more so when he was still with her, what a fucking shitshow that mess had been), and it's how you generally keep the whole bunch of your friends together and sane. Just like a clown managing multiple spinning nutrition-plateaus on flexible rods, except the nutrition-plateaus you're keeping in the air are full of _fucking shit_.

"Well?" you demand testily, folding your arms across your chest as you take a subtle look around. It's not actually that bad. You know. It's comfortable. The amount of painting on the wall is a little confronting since it's mostly just little doodles of you and all your friends in haphazard boxes with quadrant symbols over them. A few have been scribbled over with in some sort of black paint, or have a circle around them and lots of exclamation marks. You can pretty much figure out why from the little commentary notes around them. 

You see the one of you and Equius surmounted with a triumphant and extremely red heart and have to look away, feeling your whole body go hot for a moment. Fuck. If only you were in his hive, instead of here. He'd do what you'd told him to do, no matter what it was. You think about a few of the things you've told him to do, and your whole body seems to heat up even more. If you're visibly blushing and you can confirm it, you're going to commit honourable self-culling in Nepeta's ablutionblock.

"Hmm! I supaws I just didn't think you would really come!" Nepeta trills, head tilted to one side as you look back, prominent canines exposed in a hungry grin. You try not to twitch. Over in the corner, her immense lusus yawns with both mouths at once and rolls over onto her back, exposing lawnrings of white fur. Paws in the air. It'd be cute if she wasn't so large she could probably eat you in one bite. She definitely could have managed it if you had been younger and smaller than you are right now. You wonder if she ever did, to save her own spawn - Nepeta might know, but she wouldn't tell you. It's not like you're going to tell her how Crabdad protected you either. Some things are just between a troll and their lusus. "But I'm glad you did! We have so _much_ to get through!" She bounces away to the expansive comfortplane covered with no doubt flea-ridden furs of various dead mammals, and throws herself into its cushiony embrace in front of what looks like a really fucking good viewscreen. Better than your fucking viewscreen - you suppose that being moirails with a blueblood must have its benefits, somewhere. "And I'm going to tell you why you're wrong, wrong, WRONG! With examples from the text."

"Oh yeah? I hope you're ready for me to pound the knowledge of exactly how you fucked up in your theorising through your subneutronly dense skull," you snap, drawing yourself up in affront at the way she just _said_ you were wrong in some way about fictional romance. And insinuated that you were a coward besides. This fucking piece of cavedwelling roleplayer mediocrity. How fucking dare she. "I'm going to engrave just how much and how many times you were wrong on your fucking _bones_ , Nepeta Leijon, and I'll use my claws to do it."

"You will, will you?" She smirks, and you feel like somehow you've told her more than you meant to. Fucked up somewhere, like the reprehensible mutant abortive waste of an eggcase that you are. Fuck! What have you said, how have you managed to fuck this up - this was just meant to be some kinda hatefriendly bonding between quadrant corners - "Come _on_ , Karkitty. I don't _bite_." Her smile is full of teeth, and she gently pats the comfortplank next to her, and somehow the grin she's got plastered over her loathsome face sharpens another infinitesimal notch. "Unless you want me to."

"On a cold night in hell," you throw back, and because you can't show that you're afraid of her or anything like that, you take your seat beside her. She tucks her feet up underneath her ass, lounging insolently next to you as she brings up her videogrub library, arrowing in on her romance folder. "So, what are we watching?"

"Well, you're the visitor, Karkat!" She offers you the remote, and her smile only seems to get wider. What has she been doing, taking lessons or something? "I'll leave it up to you. I've seen efurrything in my library! I wouldn't want you to think I was making this unfair by picking something you didn't know! That'd be mean." She purses her lips slightly, and something in your chest clenches. If something lower down does as well, you don't acknowledge it. "When I play games, I want them to be _meowstly_ fair!"

"Only mostly?" you say dryly, and she snickers at you while you boot up the classic In Which A Young Violetblooded Miss Seeks To Meddle In The Quadrants Of Both High And Low Blood Trolls Around Her Alike Despite The Condemnations Of Her Lusus, Making Several Amusing Errors While Mistaking Her Serendipitous Matesprit For Her Kismesis Before Finally Finding True Love, As Well As Incidentally Arranging Several Other Successful Quadrants. It's the third or fourth version that she's got her hands on; it includes a very good fight scene involving various now archaic forms of cutlery. Salad forks in someone's ocularbulb feature prominently, if you're remembering which version you watched correctly. 

"It's more fun if I win," she purrs, and you wonder how exactly Equius the vegetarian wound up with a moirail who hunts her own meals down on the hoof. They say opposites attract when it comes to pale romance, which must be why it works. You guess. Where do you get off analysing one of the most successful moirallegiances you've ever encountered anyway. Much more fucking successful than the trainwreck you've seen others of your clade try their fronds at. "But I like my prey to have a fighting chance, you meow!"

Waving your hand at her irritably, you both get down to the business of watching the movie. And then afterwards - and maybe a bit during it - you get into the meat and bones of dissecting it. As you expected, Nepeta has some truly fucking awful opinions about who should have ended up with you and you? Well, for once you're kind of a canon purist. You're not even sure if Nepeta even _believes_ what she's saying to you, or if she's just saying it because it makes you scream. Her lusus ignores you both from her bed at the side of the cave, rolling over with a huff and a display of her back, tail twitching lazily. You bare your fangs and argue with Nepeta about who should have ended up with who, about the cinematic techniques and the way the actors had shown their emotions, the way they'd bared their _souls_ for the sake of portraying their pity and their hate as their appointed characters.

And here she was shitting all over it.

"...you seriously can't believe that! It just doesn't make any fucking sense!" You slam your hand down on the arm of the comfortslab while she smirks at you, the neckhole of her t-shirt slipping down to bare her shoulder. Some part of your brain stutters on the fact that she doesn't show a heftsack holster strap when it does, but the rest of you is on _fire_ with righteous indignation. She is just so wrong, you can't stand her. You can feel your fangs grinding, your claws are sinking into the cushion of the slab and it's just not helped by the fact that she seems just - _amused_. "You're sitting there and telling me with no sign of apprehension, that you think the book would have been improved if _Jaiyne Faifax wound up with vicaravager Ellton!_ How does that - that doesn't even make sense! Their characters _barely_ talk! Jaiyne is a moron for who she winds up with anyway, but she's got better taste than to wind up with that fakey purpleblood-chasing _sleazebag!_ " 

You point an accusing finger at her, feeling like steam is about to come out of your ears just like a character in a Mickey Squeakbeast cartoon. So ragingly angry over opinions that no one else would care to bother about, or understand if they heard them. In fact, you don't think they even talked at all so why is she suddenly arguing that they'd be a kismesissitude made in Clown Heaven?

"What are you going to do if I _really_ think that, Karkitty?" she purrs, and shows her fangs at you again. You have to admit it but she's actually hot right now, and you're both appalled and aroused. You freeze, not sure what to do. The idea of someone being sexually interested in you, no matter that Equius seems to be wholeheartedly focused on you in that way. He's a freak. Nepeta is also a freak, but in a different way - this is just an excuse to watch movies with someone else who takes them seriously, nothing more. It couldn't _possibly_ be anything more. She stretches, fake nonchalantly and then shifts so her hands come down on your thigh as she looms over you and fuck, you can see straight down her top. Yep, she's definitely not wearing a holster (fuck). Her fingers flex on your thighs, claws digging into the material of your jeans.

"Leijon, if you think you're getting to me, you better think twice -" you bluff, because what the fuck else can you do besides run on the busted flush you have in your grasper. The idea that Nepeta is soliciting you pitch is alien, and you don't want to do anything to fuck up what you've managed to find with Equius. He's - it's - you just couldn't, and that's a fact. Why would the moirail of your matesprit want to try you _pitch_ -

"You're such a bad liar, Karkitty, it's one of the things I like about you," Nepeta says in a rough voice, and the next thing you know - you're kissing her. It's hard and hungry and desperate - it's not like any of the kisses you've had before. But you've always been more focused pity-wise than hate. Just as you'd always thought Nepeta was. She'd said so often enough; that there wasn't anything she was interested in when it came to pitch. But here you are.

Biting, kissing, hands clawing at each other's back as she pulls herself up against you. Feeling her muscles strain and flex underneath her shirt, your grasping fronds. It's intoxicating in an entirely different way to the manner in which you've indulged with Equius. Her body is whip-taut, lithe, flexible under your hands. You couldn't even think of a way to trap her and the fact that you can't is another reason for aggravation. It probably doesn't help that she's the one that's on top of you, and you are _extravagantly_ angry that she's managed to push you into the submissive position.

So you grab her ass. Hard.

Seems only fair to you, in order to show that she can't just push you around. Even if this isn't a (fuck) proper kismesissitude, you have to show that you're gonna push back against her somefuckingwhere. Nepeta only trills, and kisses you more strongly. It's not - fuck - it's nothing like what it is like with Equius. You have to admit, to yourself at least, you don't have a lot of experience with the obsidian feelings of the romantic spectrum. But here you are, galloping like the charge of the doomed cavalreaper brigade into the mouth of oblivion despite yourself. 

"Ohhh, _meowster Vantas_ ," she purrs, as though you grabbing her ass was the only outcome she could have imagined. You snarl. hate rising up into your throat like bile as you snag your fangs into her shoulder, so artfully bared in front of you. Nepeta squeals, and then she bites you back.

The two of you roll over the floor, grappling, fighting, wrestling. Slick muscle sliding up against each other (slick muscle against wobbling fat, if you're going to be honest and the _fat_ is all on your side). Somehow you wind up on top, and Nepeta grins at you like she's got two mouths to grin with. Wide, hungry and everlastingly superior. You want to wipe that look the fuck off her face and you don't know how you're going to, and that's the worst of it.

"Take it off," she crows triumphantly, like a lowblood at a music concert confronted with their idol and you sneer down at her. Reaching down to the hem of your shirt, you start to pull your shirt off over your head and you ignore what she does. Which is pump her fists to the air in victory, like it was something she should be proud of engineering. You decided to take your clothes off - it had nothing to do with her. Honestly. " _Yessssssss!_ -"

"I hate you," you pant, your breath choking you as you throw your shirt to one side and then start on your pants to unzip them, to relieve the pressure on your bulge. Nepeta's feet claw at your legs, dragging your pants along with them as she throws her arms around your neck, kissing her despite yourself. Her kiss is a battle something to fight, something that drags you down. She's so wrong in so many fucking ways and there are so many ways in which she's just on the cusp of a real understanding - you despise both of these things about her. "God, you're _vile_ -"

Nepeta slithers away for a moment, leaving you with your mouth hanging open as she reaches down to the hem of her shirt and then whips her upper decency cover off over her head. Yep, definitely not wearing a heftsack holster. Oh your sweet fucking _God_ (that you don't believe in). The only person in your hatefriend peergroup that has any belief in a higher power is Gamzee, and he is not fucking here right now. You don't believe, but you're still faced with the sight of Nepeta Leijon's perky tits like you were a consistent chorthedral attendant with a sure ride to Shangri Lol, even if you are nothing of the fucking sort. Between the two of you, the rest of the clothes follow her shirt and your sweater pretty fucking shortly. Not that those shorts had been covering much _anyway_. You should have realised this was a set up as soon as you saw those fucking tiny shorts.

Your bulges pair and twine against each other, and you kiss Nepeta like you could fucking devour her. It's mutual. She's just as hungry for your flesh as you are for hers. Her claws rake over your shoulders as she pins you to the ground with her on top, squirming down to grind her crotch against yours. Her bulge wraps around yours, olive green encircling your stubbier red slug. In her face, her oculars are wide and her pupils are blown. You don't think you look any better as she hisses at you, wordless and lost in pitch lust. At least you're not the only one, this a god damn folie a deux and you're both in it as deep as the other.

What the _fuck_ is Equius going to think about this? But since Nepeta instigated it - and you can't imagine her ever _ever_ doing something to hurt him - you guess it must be alright. Or she has a plan.

Oh fuck you sideways with a culling fork, you're balancing this potential emotional disaster with your matesprit against the judgement of the troll who's your kismesis. Your _potential_ kismesis, you remind yourself even in the middle of the sweating mess you are currently embroiled in. Maybe this is just a bucket and nothing more (but you know Nepeta, you know her well enough to loathe her and she knows you, she hates you - this isn't just about getting off). 

"You planned this," you accuse her, and manage to flip her so she's back on the bottom again. You don't know how you do it so you don't question it, even though you have a sneaking suspicion that she let you do it. That she _allowed_ you to overpower her for the moment - which has a bitter taste of outraged gall across the back of your flavourslab and you're resolved to find a way to make her answer for the indignity at some point. Even if the two of you are the only ones who know it. You bite her on the throat and she keens, her legs wrapped around your waist as she gives a serpentine wriggle and somehow your bulge finds her nook first.

" _Fuck!_ " she howls, and her claws open you up from your shoulders to your ass in a lightning slash of heated pain and you snarl into the curve of her shoulder as you start to thrust. You know you're bleeding and you make your own point to make her do just the same thing, fastening your fangs into the meat of her shoulder and shaking your head like a woofbeast with a bone, tasting the slick salt of her blood as you thrust into her nook hard.

"Fuck," you agree in a snarled rasp and her bulge finds your nook and you shudder from horntip to walking frondstub. Oh _god_. She's cool and thick inside you, but not as cool as Equius is. Yeah, of course you've ridden the _shit_ out of that pony - seeing his bulge, who fucking _wouldn't?_ You're a mutant, you're not fucking stupid. Although, you may be thinking too highly of your own intelligence, considering where you are right now.

Bleeding and snarling, hips moving between the bulge sliding in your own nook and thrusting forward to pump into the nook in front of you. Nepeta wails and you howl, and somehow you shift again so now you're back to looking at the ceiling as she pulls away from you, sitting up as she rides your bulge. Your bulge loses the grip of her nook and you chirr in disappointment as her hands go to her own pert heftsacks, rubbing her rumblespheres and pinching at the nubs of her nipples with her claws. Your hands find her hips and your heels find purchase in the floor and you thrust up. Hard.

It makes her squeal and lose her rhythm, and for a single glittering moment, it's everything that you could want. Her eyes are closed, blissful and then they snap open to gaze into yours with irises of virulent olive-green.You lift your hand shakily to grab one of her rumblespheres, squeezing tight as she rides you into the next blissful oblivion. All of your existence has narrowed down into sweat and blood, the feel of Nepeta's bulge in your nook and your bulge in hers, the raw scrape where salt-sweat is hitting the wounds from her claws in your shoulders and back as you thrust up. Making sure to match her rhythm, not letting a moment go without reminding her that you're here, and more than willing to be her match.

There is something raw and exhilarating about it. It's not like pailing with Equius isn't intense - in its own way - but this is something different. Something hot, and _primal_ and hateful. It's sweat and slurry and blood, it's her claws in your back and your fangs in her shoulder. It's _different_ , and you don't know how you ever did without it before.

Somewhere in the back of your pan, you hope like _fuck_ that Nepeta's lusus has gone somewhere far, far away. You don't want to have to try and explain what's going on while the immense feline lusus is trying to bite off your head or something. One thing you are sure about is that she's not in the cave, or you think you'd have been kittychow already. The two of you are bleeding all over the floor, dusky green and brilliant red in smears, mingling. The rug you've been rolling around on is a fucking write-off, and neither of you have even spilled yet.

If you'd thought she'd have actually thought ahead that far, you might have asked about a bucket. But you're pretty _fucking_ certain that Nepeta is as big of a fucking pervert as her moirail, and she prefers to spill pailfree. No matter how much of a fucking mess it makes. Whatever. It's her fucking hive; if she wants to save her floorslab, she'll say something.

Nepeta doesn't make one single fucking mention of a filial pail.

You are Jaackk's complete lack of fucking surprise.

She makes you spill first, and you fucking _hate_ her for it. Your hands dig bruises and your claws grind scrapes onto her skin, while she does the same to you. The scarlet genemat of your orgasm gushes onto the floor and Nepeta makes a triumphant sound, rumbling and smug. You bite her. This time, she's the one who spills, and it makes you feel a giddy, tired sort of victory. The two of you are slumped on the floor covered in slurry and blood, and you really want to know why you're the one who's having the surface of her cavefloor grind into your back.

If you can get up from here, it'll be a fucking miracle. Your cartilaginous support structure just wasn't made for this shit.

Nepeta is resting her head on your shoulder, quiescent now and panting softly. All the rage drained out of her, and out of you as well. Lifting one hand a little, you stroke a wisp of hair back behind her ear and feel something ache inside your chest. You just keep making all these bad fucking decisions because of your bulge and you're going to take everyone you have ever known fucking with you. You're all gonna fucking die, and it'll be your _freakish mutant blood fault_.

"Shoosh," Nepeta mumbles, and swipes at your face. With her claws in, thank fuck. You scowl at her as she doesn't bother to even lift her head while she makes a mockery of shooshpapping you. "Shut _up_ , Karkat, and let me enjoy my pitchglow."

"Fuck you," you retort, the words you want to say swelling in your chest like choked bile and you don't even know how to get them out. She knows how dangerous this is, she knows how this is a death sentence for both her and her moirail and she's propelled the three of you down this path willynilly all the same. And more than just that, she's done it with a smile on her fucking face like it's all she could have hoped for.

"Mmm, again?" she croons, and then turns her head to nip your earlobe. Shifting and settling on top of your body like it's the best comfortslab she could have devised, while slow aches radiate through your muscles from being the one on the floor. Something in your back pops as you try to get comfortable, and you grimace a little. You really should make her get the fuck up, and move both of you to the comfortslab or the ablutionblock, something other than lying in a puddle of sweat and muck on her fucking cavefloor but it just is too much fucking trouble.

Everything hurts. You're a mess of stinging scratches and bitemarks, and somehow you feel _amazing_. Even with the whole ordeal of lying on the floor, and the fact that Nepeta's weight is pinning you there.

"You think too much, Karkitty," your (you _guess_ ) new kismesis purrs, and you rumble a wearied out snarl at her. It only makes her giggle, but she puts her head on your chest while you stare up at the ceiling and makes a little contented sound. You hate that you like it. You hate that she feels so comfortable with you, so at ease - but you mostly hate how you don't hate it at all. Is this what pitch is meant to be like? Not according to all the movies you've watched - but - movies aren't real fucking life. That's why you like them. Ugh. You can't believe Nepeta fucking cavedweller Leijon is the one making you think this sappy sort of shit.

"I suppose you think you're going to stop me?"

"Only when it's good for you," she purrs obnoxiously, and you groan in disgust. One of your treacherous graspers is smoothing over her hair and she makes another contented little sound. Ok. You guess you're both staying here, because you can feel your ganderbulb lids slipping closed even though you're trying to fight to keep them open, so you can wade into the discussion of moving off the goddamn fucking floor. Ugh. You hate her, and you hate yourself for being so fucking disgusting and lazy but you let yourself doze off anyway.

Later, skin stained and itching with olive and red slurry and every single fragment of muscle and bone in your worthless easy-to-bruise corpsehusk _aching_ , there is no decision that you regret so much. Especially considering how bouncy Nepeta is. You _loathe_ her. 

And much later, after a few more movies and brawling fucks that almost manage to take out her luxurious viewscreen (and does destroy the back of her comfortplank), you notice she's somehow managed to get her paints together and added a black spade to her picture of her and you. 

It's...fine, you guess. 

This is fine. 

This is not going to end badly for everyone at all. Maybe if you keep telling yourself that, it will even be true.

**Author's Note:**

> This edited pic is the level of my artistic contribution.


End file.
